Blogger Bundle Volume I: Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines

by Jo Leigh, Kathleen O'Reilly, Kay David

  “I had some papers to pick up, Amanda.” He held out a hand to her. “Excellent job.”

  She shook his hand. “Well, it’s only the first step. Kendall wasn’t bluffing on filing a Motion for Summary Judgment, and his firm’s certainly got the wherewithal to bury us in paper. Even once we have documents showing the concealment, the legal briefing on the application of the discovery rule is going to be intense.”

  “I have the utmost confidence in you, Amanda. You’ll be partner before you know it.”

  Amanda nodded in what she hoped was a wise manner. “I hope I can live up to the high standards of the firm, sir.”

  “Ambitious lawyers with a strong work ethic is all that we ask.”

  Amanda smiled cheerfully. “That’s me, sir.”

  Amanda waited until Powers was out of sight before she left the courtroom and took off down the main hall. She was going to be late meeting Joe.

  THE METROPOLITAN Museum of Art was the one holdover from Joe’s childhood that he enjoyed. His mom had taken him here every Wednesday. It was an old habit, and for meeting Amanda, it was perfect. It was public, a place where they could talk and it was private, so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

  She looked gorgeous, like normal. She wore a white suit. He was in jeans. It was nearly laughable. They wandered outside first, looking at all the sidewalk artists. Most painted for the tourists, using the New York skyline for subject matter.

  There was one he wanted to show her, though. “Come with me.” He headed for the last vendor on the street—Martin Kandolfsky, an implant from Moscow.

  Joe pointed to a small canvas, a blurring of blue and green, with swirls of white. “Can you figure it out?”

  Amanda leaned in close, following the lines with her finger. “It’s human, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” the artist replied. “Your untrained eye sees only a fraction of what can actually be contained on canvas. You paint a woman’s body and she is nothing more than the collection of her lines, curves, and shadows. You paint her soul, reaching for things she wants to achieve—her dreams, her passions—then, you have great art.”

  Joe thought he might be right. At only twenty-four, the artist had already attracted a small following.

  “So that’s a soul, not a face?”

  Joe nodded. “Art, like everything else, should go beyond the surface.”

  INSIDE THE MUSEUM, Joe and Amanda wandered around, finally ending up with the statues.

  One marble figure caught her attention. “Andrew Jackson?”

  Joe wasn’t surprised she had notice. It was good. “Yes.”

  “In a toga?”

  “The artist was going for a look.”

  “Oh.” Amanda looked closer, inspecting it carefully. “It’s very realistic, but there’s something larger than life about it.”

  “It’s the artist. He wanted everyone he sculpted to be something bigger than they really were. It should be so easy.”

  She moved to the next statue, a young boy playing on cymbals, and then read the card. “Genius of Mirth.”

  It was one of Joe’s favorites. Joy captured forever. The boy didn’t care what he was going to be when he grew up, he was caught in one moment, for a lifetime. “Thomas Crawford.”

  “You like the sculptures the best?”

  He nodded. “Marble is closest to how things really look.”

  Her eyes studied Joe rather than the piece of art. “They look frozen.”

  “So’s most of the world.”

  Amanda tilted her head, her look full of questions.

  Joe shrugged. “We all have moments where we go through the motions, just so we can have the times when we’re alive.”

  “When do you feel alive?”

  He never should have said anything. “You don’t want to know.”

  “No, it’s a serious question.”

  “You sure?”

  “Tell me.”

  “When I’m around the planes.”

  “Not when you’re around people? I never pegged you for a loner.”

  He held a finger to his lips. “Sssh. Don’t tell anybody.” Planes never judged anybody. And that was way too deep for this kind of an afternoon. Time to change the subject. “How’s work?”

  Amanda began to glow. “Absolutely fabulous.”

  Her good spirits were contagious. He smiled. “That good, huh?”

  She began to pace in front of the statue. “I had to go to court today. Get a motion to compel for Clean-All to release some documents that were used in the prior case. We’re going to nail ’em, Joe. They knew exactly what their product was doing to people, and they ignored it.”

  “You’re going to fix it, aren’t you?”

  “Damn straight.” At the moment, she looked like she could rule the world. She looked at her watch. “Speaking of work, I should get back to the office.”

  Was she that anxious to get rid of him? “You’ve only been here for ten minutes.”

  “Yeah. I have loads of stuff to do.” She stared up at him, a look that made him nervous and terrified and more than a little glad. “I don’t want to go.”

  That seemed easy enough. “Then don’t.”

  “But then nothing will get done.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll get to it eventually.” He walked on down the hallway, and she followed. Then he stopped in front of a painting of a storm, a rocky coast and an old clipper ship cruising into disaster. It drew the eye, kept you fascinated, wondering what would happen. He’d have given anything to have that much talent, that sort of skill. “You see this?”

  Just as he had done the first time he saw it, she traced it with her eyes. Noting the detail. The color. The passion. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It took the artist eleven years to finish.”

  Amanda laughed. “I bet it drove him nuts. I’ve got a two-page to-do list and that’s plenty.”

  “Nah. He just had to finish things in his own way.”

  She shook her head. “My boss would kill me.”

  She worked too hard. “How many hours do you work in a week, Amanda?”

  “Eighty to a hundred.”

  She definitely worked too hard. “Haven’t you ever played hooky?”

  “No, I’ve never needed to.”

  That was about to change. “And when’s the last time you went to the park?”

  Amanda thought for a minute. “I don’t remember.”

  “You do work too much.”

  “But if I don’t do my job, then people who really need my help won’t get it.”

  Trust Amanda to be driven by something more humane than money. He shouldn’t have been surprised. “After a while, you’ll stop caring. Then what good will you do?”

  “I can’t just take off.” She looked almost embarrassed.

  Avery would say he was corrupting her. “Amanda, it’s a job. You have a life, too.”

  “But I’ve worked so hard.”

  Avery would be right. “And you’ve done wonderfully, but is that all you want to do?”

  “You think I should quit and weave baskets in Montana?”

  “No. But I think there’s a lot more inside you than just a career.” She should realize that. “Don’t you have a hobby?”

  “Well, I used to cross-stitch, but then I never could finish, so I gave it up.”

  He thought. “Do you read?”

  “Oh, all the time. I have to keep up with the medical review journals, and then the Annals of Occupational Hygiene, and Ecotoxicology and Environmental Safety.” She stopped. “That’s not what you’re talking about, is it?”

  Joe made up his mind and grabbed her hand. She needed a white knight more than she knew. “Come on.”

  HE BOUGHT two hot dogs, one soft drink and a copy of Harry Potter. They found a bench outside a quiet spot, and he started to read to her. After two hours, she was enthralled.

  “Why did you read this?” she asked. “I never wo
uld have picked it up. It’s a kid’s book.”

  “I like Harry.”

  “He’s kinda sad.”

  Joe traced the hardwood bench with his finger. “Yeah, but he’s just an average kid.”

  “Well, no, he’s a magical wizard, and for goodness sakes, he’s got a lightning bolt on his head.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think that’s the author’s point. It all boils down to one average kid trying to make his life mean a little more.”

  Joe looked so earnest as he talked. Earnest and confused. Amanda reached out for his hand. “It’s just a book, Joe.”

  He looked down at their two hands and laughed. “Yeah. Silly me.” When he looked up, his eyes were full of warmth. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Somewhere in the distance, dogs were barking and kids were laughing. But everything in Amanda was focused on the intensity in his eyes. They weren’t talking about Harry Potter anymore. “I’m glad you asked.”

  “Amanda?”

  She liked the way his voice dipped when he said her name. “Hmmm?”

  “You’re nothing like what I thought you’d be.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re not so—” he pushed a strand of hair away from her face “—stuffy. I thought you’d be all business, all the time, but you get so fired up when you talk about your work.”

  In a couple of minutes Joe was going to realize that it wasn’t her work that got her fired up. He moved closer and her nose tingled from the musky smell of his cologne. “I’m not all work, Joe.”

  He traced her lips with a light finger and she shivered. “Not with that mouth, you’re not.”

  “Is that an insult, Mr. Barrington?”

  At the same instant she reached up for him, he lowered his head. Great minds. “I would never insult your mouth, Amanda,” he murmured against her lips. “Never.”

  It started quite innocently, soft and teasing, a mere brushing of lips. His tongue traced just inside her mouth, shooting quick sparks of need through her. When she wanted more, he held back.

  Today, he seemed to be in no hurry. She loved the flavor of him. It was wonderfully decadent. Joe was a temptation that she could not resist. He didn’t hide anything from her. His steady breath, the quickening beat of his heart. The way his hands stroked and pressed. All of it went straight to her head.

  Quietly, a breeze settled around them. In the distance, the city moved forward. Cars honking and somewhere in the distance a man was singing. Yet their single bench had become a haven.

  Unable to help herself, she took his lower lip in her mouth and sucked, fascinated by the feel of his jaw under her fingertips, the rough stubble that lined it.

  Joe pulled her closer, until she sat in his lap, his hands pushing restlessly inside her jacket.

  With an easy sigh, she melted into him. Already her body was beginning to throb and heat. Her tongue tangled with his, impatient, but then he slid his tongue deeply in her mouth and covered her heart with his hand, his touch gentle and soothing.

  He kissed her with a slow, incessant rhythm that made her shift her hips until she could feel his erection underneath her. Even then, it wasn’t enough. She rubbed against him, the friction of his jeans a poor substitute for what her body was demanding.

  Nearby voices buzzed in her head, reminding her of where they were. Joe lifted his head, tracing her cheek with an unsteady hand. “You’re making me lose it, Amanda.”

  “You don’t look sad.”

  “No. Not at all.” He looked down at his watch. “Look at the time. Three-thirty. You should go. You’re not going to finish all that work you have.”

  He was watching her. This was another test. If it hadn’t been for an important call to Vincent’s insurance company, she would have stayed. She wanted to stay. But she did need to finish the prep work for the Fidelity negotiation, and a co-worker’s performance on the Northcott case was pretty spotty. If she didn’t look over his shoulder, nobody would.

  “I can’t,” she answered, kissing him softly. Amanda stood, brushing out the wrinkles in her suit.

  Joe shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “No big deal. I’ll see you later.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, Amanda looked up at the clock on the office wall—8:30 a.m. If there was true justice in the world, it should be 5:00 p.m., considering she’d already put in four hours. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Her pens were lying sideways and her hand reached out to straighten them, but then she shook her head. Nope. Just gonna leave them. A little disorder never hurt anybody.

  Maybe she should have slept in this morning, but gee, then she wouldn’t have finished the Petersons’ letter to National Mutual Insurance, outlined the depositions for the Leonard case, or read a fascinating discussion in the New England Journal of Medicine on the increasing rates of asthma in dairy workers. She’d made eighteen copies and distributed it into everyone’s mailbox. Quite productive, all in all.

  She opened up her e-mail and scanned the listing of messages. There was one marked urgent from Powers. Ah, the morning was getting a little brighter. She leaned back in her chair and wished she could put her feet up on her desk.

  With a cocky click of her mouse, she opened it up and read. Yeah, just as she suspected, Van Zandt was needing help with the Northcott mediation. She’d tried to tell Powers earlier, but did he listen? Noooo. Not to junior lawyer Sedgewick. Not until the case was so deep in legal quicksand, they’d be lucky to salvage any sort of settlement for Mr. Northcott. She reread the last line:

  I know you’ve been working a lot of hours, but could you get with Van Zandt? I’d consider it a personal favor.

  Personal favors. She saved the e-mail in her folder named Rainy Days Are Here Again, and went to see what was up with Van Zandt.

  When Amanda entered Steve Van Zandt’s office, he looked up from his computer. “Hey there.” He smiled.

  Amanda got right to the point. “Powers said you needed help.”

  The smile dwindled. “Nah, I can handle it.”

  Hmmm. She shook her head. “When’s the mediation?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Who’s the mediator?”

  “Lindstrom.”

  He looked pleased. It was a nightmare. “Have you read his opinions for Flanagan v. Rockefeller Medical? Judge Lindstrom presided over that case when he was still on the bench.”

  “Uh, no…When was that?”

  “Look, you handle the motion to compel and I’ll take care of Judge Lindstrom.” It’d be a couple of extra late nights, but they could salvage this.

  Van Zandt pushed his keyboard away and stood up. “I’m sorry.”

  Amanda froze. “What for?”

  “I should have gotten help earlier. Just found out my wife is pregnant, and well, we’ve been excited and I’ve taken some time off. It’s hard to work when your mind is elsewhere.”

  She took a chair, amazed. She didn’t even know he was married. “Congratulations.”

  His smile was truly joyous. “Thanks. It’s going to be a girl. Alexandra Michelle.”

  “How do you do it?” Amanda had always just worked. It was a simple solution.

  “You have to make it work, so you do. I’m going to cut back some. Take some easier cases. Wait until you have a husband or a family, then you’ll understand. You ever think about getting married?”

  Not until recently. It had never seemed appealing before. “Some.”

  Steve laughed. “You’re up for partner in a few months. Wait. Just you wait.”

  She didn’t need to be thinking like that. Time to change the subject. “Why don’t you give me the files for the case? I’ll take a look. And if you need me, just ask.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “No, you don’t. This one’s on the house.” Amanda took the files and walked out of the room.

  She shut the door behind her and ran straight into Powers.

  Amanda juggled the files in her hand. “Good morning, sir.”

 
; “Assisting Van Zandt?”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t think he needs much help, sir. He’s doing a fine job.”

  “Good, good. Like to hear that. Well, carry on,” he said, then he hurried down the hall.

  Soon. She had five years under her belt and already they were dangling the carrot in front of her. Someday soon.

  When she returned to her office she shut her door, then noticed a letter on her desk. Heavy stationary with gold printing no less.

  She stared at the letter for a few moments before she opened it.

  Dear Amanda,

  Although a thank-you note seems out of place, I did want to set your mind at ease. I suppose it is time I move on with my life, but I need to thank you for giving me so much joy. You were kind to me when others weren’t, and dreamer that I am, I could conjure up Romeo and Juliet, where instead was only Falstaff and Cinderella.

  You always were the consummate lady. Perhaps your only flaw was in being too much the lady, trying not to deflate my sensitive ego. Please forgive my persistence in the past. I seem to play the fool better than most.

  I’ll say nothing more about my brother. You know my opinion on that subject. You are a pearl and he is Lothario reincarnated and back with a vengeance. Although perhaps I should credit him with some bit of shining armor that you seem to see in him.

  I am looking forward to meeting your friend, and will watch my brother carefully. I do not want to see you hurt. If he does, he shall answer to me.

  Sincerely,

  Avery

  Amanda dug in her desk for a box of tissues. Beneath that pompous exterior was a melted marshmallow. She needed to call and tell Penelope how lucky she was. Friday she would be going on a dream date with a marvelous guy—Dr. Avery Barrington, III.

  All her life people had made assumptions about Amanda. Now she found herself guilty of the very same crime. The phone lingered right under her fingers. She should call Joe and tell him. This time there was no doubt. The plan was working. Surprise. Not only was Avery getting on with his life, but she was, too.